


the picture frame is broken

by wrnkledtime



Series: to the end of the world [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, OUAT season 5, Post 5x05, angst ahoy, cs angst, cs ff, idek what episode this was, idk it was whenever we found out that killian leaves hahahaha, this one hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6396706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrnkledtime/pseuds/wrnkledtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the picture frame is broken and she cannot go back to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the picture frame is broken

There’s this picture that Emma has grown quite fond.

It rests happily on the wall beside the key rack that she had bought, the hooks of it shaped like _actual_ hooks, which she had hoped Killian would get a kick out of (and he did, God, he did - she misses his snort of laughter, his excited smile, and the kiss that he had left her breathless with when she handed him his own key to the home, _their_ home). 

She’s surprised when she sees it, and it feels like she’s seeing it for the first time all over again, because Killian isn’t greeting her with a shower of kisses when she opens the door, and the house doesn’t smell like partially-burnt pasta that her two boys had attempted to cook for dinner (how they managed to burn it every time, she has no idea), and Henry isn’t peeking his head out from the kitchen with a giant grin on his face at the sight of Emma squirming away from Killian, laughter flowing from her lips regardless of the stressful day she’s had.

The silence in the house haunts her.

It’s too quiet without anyone else inside, and the sound of silence creeps up on her as she’s unlocking the front door, ebbs out through the gap beneath the door frame, and wraps around her with its chilling arms as she steps inside. Emma lets out a shuddering breath as her boots echo against the hardwood floor, sounding louder and louder with every step, and her heart thumps loudly in her chest and her blood rushes through her veins; she quickly makes her way to her bedroom (it had been _their_ bedroom, but only for a short amount of time), and she’s out of her clothes in record time, crawling into bed and beneath the covers in her undergarments and one of his ridiculous blouses that he refused to get rid of. (”It’s my favorite top, Swan! I don’t care how many of those bloody  _button ups_ you lot get me, this one is here to stay.”)

Emma shuts her eyes and slips her thumb into the heavy ring that rests on a chain against her chest, and the corners of her mouth tick up into a smile at how big it is on her. She swears that she feels a sudden warmth as the cool metal touches her skin, and she allows it to travel through her veins and blossom in her chest, causing her to heave out another breath. 

Her fingers play with the ring, her mind plagued with thoughts of him and how he kept saying that he _had_ to do it (“I have to do this, Swan. Please, _please_ trust me, believe in me, and find me. I know you’ll find me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”)

“I love you,” she breathes out weakly, letting the darkness of the night swallow up her whisper. She chokes on her breath and tears leak from her eyes traitorously as she wills her heartbeat to slow down - she wants everything to slow _down_ and for everything to stop and go back to the way it was because she’s _tired_ \- she’s so tired and she’s alone and she feels so lost without him and she wasn’t expecting this, she wasn’t expecting any of this.

Emma sniffles and her eyes flutter shut, exhaustion sweeping over her as her body curls in on itself. Her mind conjures up light as it flits back to the picture beside the key rack, and she allows herself to laugh (a broken, watery sound, but a laugh nonetheless) at the memory of it being taken. 

They had been sitting in Granny’s, her body pressed up next to his and their smiles bright as they had attempted to hide their laughter at the sight of her little brother promptly dumping his meal of mashed carrots onto the table, clapping his chubby hands into the substance despite his parents’ protests, and smearing the slimy mess onto his father’s cheeks with his tiny, troublesome hands. 

She recalls the sound of his laughter - warm, bright, hearty, familiar, and  _home -_ and she remembers the sound of her own laughter that had been muffled into his shoulder. She had been unable to help herself from leaning into him as he held onto her, their laughter mingling together and creating the most melodious of sounds. 

She remembers Granny handing the picture to her the very next morning as she ventured inside of the diner, coffee on her mind and a certain pair of lips that her own anticipated to kiss. Their coffees had been sat on the counter in their usual place as they always were, but Granny was sat beside them, patiently waiting with an excited smile on her lips and mischief glittering in her eyes.

The second Henry had seen it, he had lit up and said that he had the perfect picture frame to place it in. Killian had still not gotten back from his day at the docks with David, and Emma had ruffled a hand through Henry’s hair before he bolted off into his bedroom. He had returned not even a minute later with something rectangular-shaped and messily wrapped in tissue paper, and when he had ripped through the tissue paper (with a grand gesture and an excited “ta-dahh!”) a wooden frame that was carved with tiny drawings of anchors and ships was revealed, and Emma could’ve sworn that hadn’t seen anything more _Killian_ than that. 

Emma had grinned as she allowed Henry to slip the picture inside and tack it up to the wall right beside the key rack. She remembers the sound of a key being placed inside of a lock and then the front door swinging open, revealing her favorite pirate (her only pirate, he was her only _everything_ \- _he was her everything_ ) with his stupidly disheveled hair and his stupidly wind-kissed cheeks and his stupidly endearing smile as he took in the sight of them with his stupidly blue and stupidly curious eyes.

She remembers the soft look that had taken over his features as Henry excitedly pointed out the picture frame, explaining that he had made it in school in this class called wood shop and that he wanted to make Killian something but he hadn’t been quite sure what, and that a picture frame was the first thing he could think of. (”Because we have so many memories together, Killian, and it’s time that we start remembering them as a family.”)

Emma remembers Killian’s laugh, happy and full, that had been laced with some sort of emotion, one that she couldn’t quite identify yet completely understood, and she remembers shuffling into his arms as he beckoned the both of them towards him for a hug.

(Oh, her stupidly cute, stupidly endearing, stupidly loving boys.)

She gasps, wrenching open her eyes only to be greeted by the sight of darkness and his empty side of the bed - too cold to touch, too cold to think about, too cold to remember what it had been like when it was warm not so long ago.

Her hands are balled up into fists and her body is running on a bonfire of emotion and she can feel her magic pricking beneath the surface of her skin and she cannot - she cannot deal with the loneliness, the pain, the lack of love, and suddenly, her magic flares and the darkness of the room is filled with light. 

It’s over within a second and she’s forgotten just how powerful her light magic is as she pants, sitting up in bed with wide eyes and fisting the sheets into her hands. A crash sounds from somewhere in the house and she jumps, her eyes darting to the bedroom door that she left ajar and her tongue feeling dry and heavy in her mouth.

She shuffles out of bed, weariness seeping into her bones as she swiftly makes her way around the house, poking her head into the darkened rooms and searching for the source of the sound. 

It’s not until she crosses the hallway and circles around the front entrance of the house that she finds it - the wooden picture frame resting face-up on the floor, the edges cracked from the impact of the fall and the frame broken. Emma kneels down beside it, regarding it with reverence as if it’s something that had once been living, and a part of her regards it as such, because now it’s just yet another thing broken, another thing needing fixing, needing saving, needing reassurance that it can still be what it once was before, and she can’t give that to something when she doesn’t have enough of it to give herself. 

A whimper falls from her chapped lips as her fingers wrap around the glossy edge of the picture; part of it is wrinkled and bent and it’s _not the same_ , and she feels helpless as she allows herself to cry, her body shaking as sobs wrack through her body and her breathing coming out in heavy, shallow pants. 

Light begins to filter in through the windows as the sun rises to kiss the night, and she can’t seem to move, can’t seem to breathe, can’t seem to find a reason to be okay, because the picture frame is broken and she cannot go back to bed.


End file.
